Sometimes I really like my life.
Amster and TBG are sitting on the couch, discussing economics and life plans and discounting as she prepares for a deposition and he shares his wisdom. The air-conditioning is humming along, the loaf of fresh bread made our lunchtime sandwiches even more delicious, and Amster finally understands what the charts were trying to tell her. TBG feels useful and Amster feels smart and I feel the love.
The quail eggs have hatched and parental units are shepherding babies around the neighborhood. Some managed to salvage 2 little ones, some 5, but one family hit the jackpot. There must be 10 or more little fuzzy creatures following the grown-ups in the family that traipses through my courtyard in the late afternoon. They move so quickly it's hard to count. Do you think it's too anthropomorphic to decide that this dad is sticking his chest out just a little bit further than the dad with the 2 chicks? No matter, they're making me smile.
I managed to resist giving un-asked-for instructions in the gym this morning, even though the woman on the seated row machine was bending so far at her groin that this simple back exercise was turned into a hip flexor annoyance. I bit my tongue and moved on with my own work-out, proud of the fact that I had corralled my urge to intervene in her life. could it be that I am maturing?
Wally-World had all the staples I needed, and I wasn't tempted to buy anything that wasn't on my list. No impulse buying, just filling the gaps in the pantry. When I am able to stick to the written words instead of paying attention to my inner Greedy Smurf my bills are much lower. Is this another sign of incipient maturity?
The library had Hell Gate, a Linda Fairstein novel I'd missed earlier this year, waiting for me on the front shelf. Elizabeth Gunn's 10th Minnesota novel was sitting right next to it. My request for the newest John Lescroart was also fulfilled, resting on the shelf with my name sticking out of the top. I read each one in one day, forgoing television and Tetris and Wordscraper and swimming around in the mystery genre. Having just finished a 4 week class on British Detective Fiction my head was primed and ready for insightful reading. My id took over, though, and I raced through them, anxious to find who dunnit and why. I'm not sure any of them count as great literature, but they are good reads. And since my next class, starting in July, is 4 weeks on The Inferno I think I deserve some brain candy. Being kind to oneself is a skill honed with age..... I'm working on it.
And then, finally, after much procrastination and only because there was hardly any room for my car, I cleaned out the garage. Amster says that my garage has morphed into a woman-eating beast, but I remind her that most of what she hears is me talking about doing it, not actually stacking the boxes and going through the stuff I'd taken from G'ma 11 months ago and putting things back in the drawers set aside for their storage and picking up the broom and sweeping. Three hours, four fans and two radio stations later my trunk was filled with donations and repairs and returns and that Wally-World list from a paragraph or two ago and I ran some errands and came home to Amster and TBG and sandwiches and lessons.
Some days are special in their very ordinariness.